


About A Boy

by BlasphemousProphet



Category: Shameless (US), gallavich - Fandom
Genre: AU, Gallavich, Jealous!Ian, M/M, Minor Angst, Smut, based on the movie about a boy, dead frank, dead terry, fuck shameless, ian is hugh grant, in which mickey gets the proper treatment he deserves, jealous ian is my jam, mandy is with svetlana, mickey is a good dad, only the best for mickey milkovich, painter!mickey, rich!ian, ten year old yev
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 03:01:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3751996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlasphemousProphet/pseuds/BlasphemousProphet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An Ian/Mickey version of the romcom About A Boy in which Ian is the determined loner and Mickey is the father of the annoying little boy who drags Ian into the world but mainly into Mickey's path. Mickey Milkovich deserves the best and he gets it because it's my world and these characters just live in it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	About A Boy

**Author's Note:**

> In this AU Mickey is still from the South Side, Terry still made him rape Svetlana so he has the same hangups about relationships. Ian is rich from a Christmas recording Frank made before he died of alcohol poisoning. Mickey is still technically married to Svetlana because he's a good person and Svetlana is a boss ass bitch. I know this looks dark but it ends well.   
> Trigger Warnings: Very brief mention of Terry forcing Svetlana to rape Mickey. In chapter II in the scene after Ian meets Svetlana if you want to skip it.

Ian Gallagher wasn’t fucking lonely, that was for sure. Some guys, they got all bogged down with friends and family and their lives just disintegrated into total chaos but not Ian. Ian Gallagher lived his life in calm fifteen minute increments. He was an island. Inside his apartment he was at peace. He took his meds, he had some casual hookups, he watched his Van Damme box sets, he played video games and he did whatever the fuck he wanted. It was a good life. Or at least it was.  
“What?” snapped Ian, wrenching open his front door at the ungodly hour of noon.  
“Can I come in?” It was a tiny blue eyed kid who didn’t wait for an answer before barging in.   
“Excuse me?” said Ian.   
The kid yanked him over to the window. “See those fuckers?” said the kid. “They’re waiting for me. I just need like twenty minutes in here.”  
Ian stared. “Who are you?” he said finally.   
“Yev. Yevgeny Milkovich,” the pipsqueak said proudly.   
“What are you, Russian?”  
“My mom is.”  
“And where is she?”  
“She lives in South Side. I’m staying with my dad this weekend.”  
“And he can’t deal with this because?”  
The kid laughed. “He could…just he’s a little intense. I don’t want to freak those guys out.”  
Ian blinked. The kid was already walking around the apartment, whipping off his shoes like he lived there, running his hands through Ian’s video game collection. “Wow, you have Bioshock Infinity!” Yev exclaimed. “Can I play it?”  
Ian shrugged. “You hungry?”  
“Always,” said the kid.   
They chomped on their pizza bagels together, the kid annoyingly humming while he chewed as he continued to stare at the cover of Bioshock.   
“Who’s that?” said Yev, pointing to the newspaper cutout of Frank taped onto a box.   
“My dad,” said Ian shortly.   
“Why’s he in the newspaper?”  
“He wrote one crappy Christmas song,” said Ian. “It paid for that video game.”  
“So where is he?” said Yev, looking around as if Frank would pop out of a cake.   
“Bad musican. Worse father,” said Ian. “He was an alcoholic.”  
Yev nodded sagely. “Got it,” he said.   
The bullies were definitely gone but another five minutes passed before Ian reminded the kid to leave.   
“Can I come back?” asked Yev.   
“No way,” said Ian.   
Yev came back the next Tuesday. The kid was a talker. “My grandfather died a year after I was born. My dad is like, the coolest guy ever. They’re still married, my mom and dad, but only because my mom isn’t a citizen. My dad does art. But like, smart art, not pretentious shit you see in museums,” said Yev.   
“Wow,” said Ian sardonically.   
“Sometimes he takes me to art shows so we can have a good laugh,” said Yev seriously.   
Ian laughed.   
“He’s funny. You would like him.”  
“Don’t you have homework to do?”  
“Not really,” said Yev.   
“Okay, smartass, what do you want to do?”  
“Bioshock,” said Yev, clutching the box.   
Ian rolled his eyes. “Just take it,” he said. “You’ll play it more than I will.”  
“Holy shit!”  
Yev gave Ian a hug. The kid was really tiny. 

“What are all these pills for?”   
“None of your business.”  
“Are you dying?”  
“No!”  
“Are you crazy?”  
“No!”  
“Are you…can you just tell me?” begged Yev.   
“No!”  
“I’ll google it,” said the kid.   
Ian threw his hands up. “I’m bipolar. You happy?”  
“What is that?”  
“If I don’t take those pills I’m a giant mess,” said Ian.   
“Can I have one?”  
“Why?”  
Yev shrugged. “Just in case.”  
“Is it the bullies?”  
Yev gave a tiny nod.   
“Tell your dad,” Ian advised.   
“You wanna meet him? My dad?”  
“Why would I want to meet your father?”  
Yev gave Ian a look. “It’s dead in here, man.”  
Ian rolled his eyes. “Alright, genius, time to go. I got a date.”  
“Really?” said the kid curiously. “Do you have a picture of her?”  
Ian showed Yev the guy’s Tinder photo. “He looks kinda stupid,” said Yev.  
“You’re one to talk,” said Ian, rolling his eyes as he pushed the kid out the door. 

“IAN GALLAGHER!” roared a voice.  
Ian had been falling asleep listening to Chad babble about these weight loss supplements he had been talking. “That’s your name, isn’t it?” said Chad.   
Ian stood up. One very pale, very handsome, very blue eyed man was barreling towards him.   
“The fuck are you doing with my kid?” snapped the guy.   
“Who are you?” said Ian.   
“Mickey Milkovich,” said the guy, cracking his knuckles. “And you messed with the wrong kid, you perv. Outside. Now.”  
Ian followed the guy outside while the whole restaurant stared. “Can I get the check?” said Chad.  
“Wait, wait, you’re Yev’s dad?” said Ian, holding up his hands.  
“Lot of kids come to your house?” said the guy.   
“He didn’t tell you he was visiting me?” said Ian incredulously. “He just started coming over, there were a bunch of bullies chasing him-“  
“Are fucking kidding me?” snapped the guy, slowly lowering his fists.   
“No! now can you chill out?”   
Mickey milkovich stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I get overprotective,” he explained shortly, stuffing his hands into his pockets and pulling out Bioshock.   
“I gave that to him,” said Ian.   
“Yev’s not a goddamn charity case!”  
“I gave it to him so he would leave. But then he kept coming back.”  
Mickey Milkovich stared at Ian suspiciously. Fuck, the guy was adorable.  
“Look, I’m not a creep. Let me buy you a drink, prove it to you…”  
“Your boyfriend good with that?” Mickey motioned to Chad, staring wide eyed at them from the corner of the café.   
“He’s not my boyfriend,” said Ian quickly. “Blind date.”  
“Fine,” grumbled Mickey. “Only because I’m keeping the video game.”  
Ian smiled.   
“So how’d you find me?” Ian asked.  
“Yev said you were on Tinder.”  
“Oh my god,” groaned Ian.  
“Your face is as red as your hair,” smirked Mickey.   
“God,” mumbled Ian.   
“Hey, I made an account to find you,” said Mickey.  
“Can I see it?”  
“Hell no.”  
“That’s your profile picture? It’s just an arm!”  
“Gets the point across.”  
“You should put a picture of your face in,” said Ian. “Is that even your real arm?”  
“Yes!”  
“Liar,” Ian teased.   
Mickey pulled off his jacket. “Feel it,” he said.   
Mickey twitched when Ian touched him and Ian knew that Mickey had felt it, that same surge of electricity, that switch from black and white to color.   
They were quiet for a while.   
“So where is Yev?” said Ian finally.   
“He lives with Svet- I mean, he lives with his mother,” said Mickey. “But he visits a lot.”  
Mickey seemed heartbroken just talking about it.   
“You don’t get along with her?” asked Ian.   
“No, we do,” said Mickey. “Just…why would I bring Yev into the dysfunctional life of an artist, you know?”  
“Well, he talks about you a lot.”  
“Does he?”  
“All the time,” said Ian honestly and the look on Mickey’s face made the whole day, the whole year, Ian’s whole fucking life seem worth it for that moment. 

Mickey groaned when he finally got Ian naked. “Holy shit,” he whispered over Ian’s cock. “I knew I liked you.”  
“I like you too,” said Ian simply, flipping Mickey onto his stomach and trailing a hand down his back. Mickey’s cock was leaking all over Ian’s sheets and Ian loved it. Mickey contorted himself in all kinds of insane ways in order to kiss Ian during sex. Mickey was preciously loud. Ian could stay in bed with Mickey for hours, just figuring out ways to make him beg.   
The whole thing happened so fast and sweet that it left Ian breathless when Mickey wasn’t there, just thinking about Mickey, trying to recover. Mickey was the neediest little bottom Ian had ever met. He was perfect. When he wasn’t squirming underneath Ian and staring at him with those giant ocean eyes then he was thrashing around near Ian, brokenly begging for his cock. When he wasn’t deep throating Ian and relishing the feel of Ian’s hands in his hair, on his back, massaging his shoulders, then he was riding Ian, so slowly it made Ian’s head spin. When he wasn’t whispering filthy demands to Ian as they stood in line at the grocery store then he was making Ian dizzy walking around his apartment naked, touching all of Ian’s carefully accumulated shit.  
Mickey Milkovich was perfect. Out of bed, Mick made Ian’s throat catch when he talked about how much he loved his stupid kid, made Ian’s heart clench up with pride when he watched Mickey adjusting his paintings for an art show, sent a tingle straight through Ian’s soul when he let Ian hold his hand in public for the first time. When Mickey stood on tiptoe to kiss Ian it felt like a manic episode. He loved it.   
Ian’s days used to be so simple but now they were torture. Ian spent his days by his phone checking to see if Mickey had texted, even if Mickey’s texts were usually terse and to the point because Yev liked to look through his phone. Ian spent hours in flower shops looking for bouquets that would say the words that he couldn’t. Ian watched Mickey for some sign, any sign, that Mickey felt remotely the same earth shatteringly mind numbingly world stoppingly insane love that Ian felt. A feeling that made Ian feel like he wanted the stupid chaos everyone else had. Like the last ten years of his life had been a waste, knowing Mickey Milkovich existed somewhere in the world and not going out to find him.   
Mickey felt asleep straight away after sex, which was awesome for Ian because he got to watch Mickey and get a chance to think, which was basically impossible whenever mickey was awake and looking at him. Ian ran his fingers through Mickey’s hair and embarrassingly pretended Mickey was his boyfriend, that Mickey dedicated paintings to him, that Mickey was in love with him, that Mickey Mickey Mickey…  
When Mickey obsessed over his Stephen Segal movies Ian pushed him against the wall and ripped his pants down in a show of jealousy so unsubtle he prayed Mickey would be too distracted to notice. And Mickey was so easily, gloriously distracted, in such an unending variety of ways, that it was all Ian could do to stop daydreaming about distracting Mickey when he wasn’t around. When Mickey wasn’t in the mood, when he came over and paced Ian’s apartment and freaked Ian the fuck out-  
“My dad’s memorial’s happening right now, man.”  
“You don’t want to go?”  
“He’s a piece of shit,” said Mickey simply, just two words that made Ian cling to Mickey and swear to never let go.  
When Mickey ran around town buying shit for Svetlana and Yev on New Years and said  
“Svetlana’s doing some New Years shit, man. If you want to come,” in a tone so studiously casual that Ian knew it had been rehearsed, when Ian discovered Mickey was still on Tinder and spent a day in panic mode until Yev told him it was because Mickey had forgotten to remove it-  
“Shit,” said Mickey. “You know I own paintbrushes already, right? As an artist?”  
Ian punched him in the arm.   
“It’s for here,” said Ian, motioning to the easel and the stack of canvases. “In case you want to paint here.”  
God, Mickey was cute when he blushed! “Thanks, man,” Mickey mumbled, in a tone so studiously casual it meant Mickey was too overwhelmed with emotion to say anything else.   
When Mickey refused to tell Yev about them because he didn’t want to freak him out but then invited Mickey to Yev’s bullshit school talent show and let him sit in the audience next to him where they roared and cheered like two proud dads-  
Ian was reasonably certain this was why people let chaos into their lives. The chaos made sense now. The chaos was a force of nature but it wasn’t a bad one. Mickey had barreled Ian over without batting an eye and the war was won. If Ian was an island he wanted Mickey to be the sea around him. Otherwise Ian didn’t really want to be an island at all. 

Chapter II  
“Sleepy, what are you doing up?” mumbled Mickey sleepily, grabbing Ian’s foot.  
Ian shoved the pills he was taking onto the floor. “N-nothing,” he said.   
“Come on, man, take your meds,” said Mickey and Ian stared at him.   
“You know?”  
Mickey stared right back. “Um…yeah,” he said, sounding just like Yev.   
Ian stood up and walked out of the room. Mickey followed.   
“What?” said Mickey.   
“You knew I was bipolar for the past five months and you weren’t…you didn’t…” Ian shakily trailed off the sentence as he stared out the same window where he had waited for Yev’s stupid bullies to leave, unable to look at Mickey for fear he would collapse at Mickey’s feet, kissing every bone in Mickey’s body and then freaking him the fuck out.   
“Were we supposed to talk about it?” said Mickey. “I didn’t know if it was…”  
I’m in love with you, thought Ian. A beautiful chaotic fucking whirlwind. And I have no idea if you love me back. “Just…most people freak out,” said Ian. “Being bipolar isn’t like being depressed or some shit.”  
“I know,” said Mickey carefully.  
Ian reached for Mickey but Mickey was already walking into the bedroom, kneeling on the floor, collecting the pills. “Take your meds, Red,” said Mickey softly.   
Ian’s whole body felt shaky. Mickey’s voice was so gentle that Ian didn’t know what to do. He took the pills. Then he got into bed with Mickey, little spoon big spoon, and he couldn’t help how wet his eyes were.   
“Sorry I’m being so intense,” whispered Ian. In response, Mickey sighed into his shoulder, already asleep. 

“You look like carrot.”  
Ian turned around. “What?”  
“I am Mickey’s wife,” said the woman proudly. “We have Yev. His show is my show.”  
“You’re Svetlana,” said Ian. The woman was beautiful and fierce, standing in front of him like a fire breathing dragon. “You hurt him or Yev and I break every bone in your body,” hissed Svetlana. “You hurt my family, I kill you. Understand?”  
Ian nodded. Svetlana walked away, apparently satisfied. Ian watched her ruffle Mickey’s hair, give him a kiss on the cheek, and screech Yev’s name. they really looked like a family, thought Ian uncomfortably. Ian had always known Mickey was married but it had never really occurred to him that it was a living, breathing person that shared Mickey’s name.  
It occurred to Ian that he really didn’t know a lot about Mickey. There were bits of information, here and there-  
“You speak Russian?” Ian asked after Mickey had bawled out some homeless guy for trying to steal his wallet.   
“Not really,” said Mickey, embarrassed.   
“Not really? That sounded pretty fucking fluent!”  
“I’m Ukranian, man. Can you let it fucking go?”  
Ian dropped it.   
Ian knew Mickey had a sister, that Mickey was private, that Mickey had been in juvie a lot as a kid, that there was some messy shit between Mickey and his dad but that was it. Ian wanted to know more. Ian wanted to know all of it.   
Ian watched miserably as Mickey gave Yev a hug, walked Svetlana to her car, doing his wild gesticulating and talking along the way, patted the top of the car and sent them off. Without Ian Mickey had a whole life but for Ian Mickey was his whole life.  
“So you met Svetlana, huh?” Mickey appeared next to Ian. “She can be intense sometimes,” he added.  
Ian shook off the hand that was resting on his shoulder so casually it was like breathing. This was Mickey’s art show, it wasn’t fair to ask him these questions now but-  
“How the fuck are you married?”  
Mickey shrugged but his face was already closing up in response to Ian’s tone and when Mickey was eventually called over to explain something Ian spent the next hour drifting around the room and trying to tell Mickey with his eyes that he was sorry.  
It was really low for Ian to ask Yev the questions he was too scared to ask Mickey. It was pathetic and lame and just stupid but the next time Yev came over Ian handed him his pizza bagel and casually asked how his parents met.   
“I don’t know,” said Yev, mouth full. “They don’t talk about it.”  
“Was it a messy separation?”  
“What’s with the questions, dude?”  
Ian shrugged. “I’m not great at this stuff,” he admitted.   
“Neither is my dad,” said Yev, finishing his pizza bagel and starting on Ian’s. “Before you he never ever dated. Like not one person.”  
“Really?”  
“He’s a lot happier now,” said Yev.   
Ian hid his smile in a mouthful of beer.

“Dinner is served,” announced Ian, throwing Mickey a container of Sweet and Sour Chicken. Mickey wrapped it open. “Ugh, you’re the best,” he said.   
Ian waited until Mickey was on his second beer before asking.   
“So…um, how did you meet Svetlana?’  
Mickey’s face was impassive. “Why do you care?”  
“I don’t?”  
“So stop asking stupid questions!”  
Ian stood up. “It’s not stupid,” he snapped. “It’s not stupid if I want to know how my gay boyfriend got married and had a fucking kid!”  
Mickey put down his food, appetite gone, rubbing his face. Ian felt terrible.   
“You really want to know?” said Mickey.  
“Yes!”  
Mickey’s eyes looked huge and especially blue as he talked. “When I was sixteen my father found me with some guy and made me fuck Svetlana at gunpoint. Two months later I found out she’s pregnant. Four months later we’re married. When Yev was two we separated. Are you happy now, asshole?”  
Ian was quiet. Mickey shook his head. “Fuck this,” he said. “Fuck you. I’m out. And when the fuck did I ever say we were boyfriends?”  
While Ian was still trying to find words Mickey walked out. 

“You fuck with my husband?” Ian awoke to Svetlana kneeling over him with a hammer.   
“Jesus! How did you get in here?”  
“Answer the question!” said another voice from the edge of his bed.   
“Who are you?”  
“I’m Mandy,” she said importantly. “And you’re about to die.”  
“So?” glowered Svetlana.   
Ian was ashamed of the way he became a sobbing mess under their stares. “I pushed him too hard…to talk about you…”   
“Fix it,” hissed Svetlana. “You make him sad, you fix it.”  
“Or we’ll come back,” said Mandy, scanning the room for something to break. Svetlana handed her Ian’s glass alarm clock. Mandy took great relish in throwing it on the floor.   
Svetlana was staring at Mandy with undisguised affection. “You are sexy when you break shit,” she whispered. Mandy smirked and pulled out her pocket knife. “You’ve got twenty four hours,” she said, pulling Svetlana out the door with her. 

Ian must have called Mickey fifty times. On the fifty first call someone picked up.   
“Mickey?”  
“What did you do to my dad?” said Yev.   
“I fucked up,” said Ian miserably. “I’m not great with people.”  
“I like you,” said Yev.   
Ian was quiet.   
“You should come over and apologize,” said Yev. “When I’m at school, so it won’t be weird.”  
Ian realized he had never been to Mickey’s house. “I don’t even know his address,” muttered Ian.   
“I’ll text you,” Yev told him.   
Mickey’s apartment was on a decent block. That was a thing Mickey was proud of, Ian could tell, that someone from the South Side had a nice apartment with a bedroom for his kid in it The label for his apartment buzzer said M+Y MILKOVICH in Yev’s sloppy writing. Ian took a deep breath and pressed the buzzer. My Milkovich, thought Ian. He was really far gone.   
“Yeah?”  
“It’s Ian. Can I talk to you?”  
“Talk,” said Mickey.   
Ian leaned closer to the buzzer. “I shouldn’t have pushed you to talk about it. I’m sorry.”  
“Just like…fucking boundaries, man,” said Mickey. “You want to come up?”  
Mickey’s apartment was a little messy but carefully designed. Yev’s room was filled with Harry Potter books and sneakers, the walls were painted with a mixture of Mickey’s sure hand and Yev’s childish scrawls and the whole place just struck Ian as small and sweet and safe, just like Mickey, and Ian wanted to stay there forever.   
“Nice place,” said Ian.   
“I don’t think we should fuck anymore,” said Mickey. “I mean, Yev likes you so we can hang out but…I don’t think it would be a good idea.”  
Ian felt like he had been smacked with a brick. His heart hurt. He grabbed Mickey’s arm. “Look, I know I fucked up, okay? Just…give me another chance. I’m bad with people.”  
Mickey blinked at him. “And you think I am?”  
“You have Yev and Svetlana and Mandy and…me. They all love you. you’re a good person. I mean, you’re good with people.”  
“Thanks,” said Mickey softly.   
“You have purple paint on your cheek,” said Ian.   
Mickey laughed a little. 

Ian’s apartment seemed empty. His fifteen minute increment lifestyle was a joke. He wasn’t an island, he was a goddamn desert. And he was an idiot. Casually fucking around wasn’t fun anymore. There was no familiarity in it, no carefully rough touches and trusting submission. When there was familiarity in it, like someone wanted to get to know Ian, Ian recoiled because that person wasn’t Mickey and it just felt so wrong.   
Ian waited on Svetlana and Mandy to come and beat him up but they never came.   
Ian drove around Mickey’s neighborhood at night because he couldn’t stand to be in his apartment alone. He wondered what Mickey was doing, who Mickey was doing, where when how why fuck he was so fucked.   
“Ian!”  
“Hey, Yev. What are you doing here so late?”  
“My dad is out.”  
“Out?” said Ian sharply. “Like on a date? I mean…good. Good for him. Good.”  
Yev wrinkled his nose. “My dad doesn’t date,” he said.   
Ian focused on his breathing. “He’s prepping for his art show,” Yev added. “It’s next week. You should go.”  
“He doesn’t want me there,” said Ian.   
“Yes he does. Besides, I think it would be kind of cool if you guys were…friends again,” finished Yev, looking a little shy.   
Ian bit his lip. “So how’s school?” he asked.   
“Same old crap,” said Yev grumpily and he sounded so much like Mickey that Ian wanted to die. 

The art was beautiful. There were some nudes in there of some black guy Ian had never seen. But Mickey doesn’t date. Besides, artists paint nudes all the time, right? But Mickey took his brushstrokes seriously. He did them with reverence. He wouldn’t paint something stupid, would he? Then again, Mickey had never painted Ian. Had he even liked Ian? Had that whole amazing fuckfest been a mirage?  
“You came,” said Mickey simply.   
“I wouldn’t miss a show,” said Ian. “Who’s that?”  
“Model,” Mickey shrugged.  
“It’s…nice.”  
Ian couldn’t help staring at Mickey. He looked so nice, in a suit with his hair brushed back, his giant eyes fluttering at Mickey, hands stuffed awkwardly in his pockets…  
Ian missed sucking Mickey’s cock. He missed the sounds Mickey made when he was close, the broken groans and tortured confessions. He missed the adoring look Mickey gave him after he stood up to kiss him. He missed palming Mickey’s crotch to distract him during a movie, missed the sight of Mickey’s cock leaking onto his chest as he lay completely open on Ian’s bed, taking in all of him. Ian missed the feel of Mickey’s cock hardening in his hand, Mickey’s cocky smile turning into breathy whispers, clenched fists and furrowed brows. The way Mickey couldn’t move after sex. The way his feet twitched during sex. The way he just seemed totally Ian’s, like nothing else in the world existed for him, during sex. The way Ian had convinced him to try fucking face to face and how he had watched Mickey’s mind being blown. The way Mickey was sometimes just hungry for Ian’s dick, the way Mickey’s tiny nipples would harden…thinking about Mickey was filthy.  
But that wasn’t all Ian missed. He missed the way Mickey said his name. he missed all of Mickey’s nicknames for him. He missed the enthusiastic way Mickey told stories that had happened to both of them using voices and wild gestures. He missed how funny Mickey was when he was grumpy. He missed the way Mickey held his hand during sex. He missed the way Mickey never put the milk back, rumpled all the sheets on his bed, never answered texts until after a day had passed, the way Mickey took pictures of them together as art inspiration and then used it as the background for his phone, the way Mickey wore tank tops no matter what the weather was, the way Mickey seemed to genuinely enjoy spending time with him, listening to him talk, the way Mickey genuinely adored his body, didn’t view reciprocation as a chore, the way Mickey would move mountains for Ian to rim him, the way Mickey didn’t bullshit around and the way Mickey would sometimes just glance at Ian and smile from time to time for no reason and just make Ian’s heart explode.   
I love you, Ian thought.   
“Everything looks beautiful,” he said instead.   
“Thanks,” said Mickey, smiling. “Yev’s around here somewhere if you want to see him.”  
“Sure,” said Ian, who then spent the rest of the party stalking Mickey.  
“Ian! You came,” yelled Yev.  
There was a hug and it wasn’t awkward. It was sweet.  
“So your dad seems happy.”  
“He is,” said Yev.  
“Who’s the guy in the sketches?”  
Yev shrugged.   
“Tell me about school,” Ian demanded and Yev needed no further prompting, off on a rant about tiny school lunch portions and racists and dumb teachers and long hours…

“You don’t need to help clean up,” said Mickey, grinning, as Ian swept up cookie crumbs and Mickey went over the remaining inventory.   
“I’m in love with you,” blurted Ian. “I mean…I love you.”  
Mickey’s face was soft. Ian couldn’t read it.   
“Look, I spent my life being an island, doing my own thing and liking it. But then I met Yev and you and I really just how depressing and shitty my whole thing was. You came over and it was like…things mattered again. The world was exciting. People were exciting. Well, not people, just you, really.   
I’ve never met anyone that didn’t make a big fucking deal about me being bipolar. I’ve never liked kids or had a boyfriend. I never wanted those things but I want them…with you. I mean you don’t have to call yourself my boyfriend if you don’t want to. You don’t have to change anything. Just maybe if you could come over every now and then? Or more than that if you want it?”  
Ian took a deep breath. He was fucking this whole thing up, honestly.   
“I mean, let me take you out on a proper date. We can drink wine and ask each other questions and choose which ones we want to answer and eat our rare steaks and go home together. Or…”  
Mickey was rubbing his forehead. “I love you too,” said Mickey softly. “It’s fucking terrifying.”  
“I’m scared too,” admitted Ian. “Can we be scared together?”  
Mickey was standing so close Ian could feel his heartbeat. “I’m not so scared anymore,” he whispered. Ian tilted Mickey’s chin upward. “You’re a brave man,” he said.  
Mickey smiled and Ian’s heart fell apart. “Kiss me, dipshit,” said Mickey.   
Ian swept Mickey back and kissed Mickey so roughly that Mickey could barely stand.   
“I want to kiss you like that every day if you let me,” muttered Ian into Mickey’s ear.   
“Boyfriend of the year,” Mickey whispered back. Ian’s hands were already roaming over Mickey’s body, tasting his skin, reclaiming him as his own. Mickey reached for Ian’s hand. Ian held it.


End file.
